


Home for the Holidays

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-25
Updated: 2005-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica learns the true meaning of Christmas. Which is baseball. Definitely baseball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://shizam23.livejournal.com/profile)[**shizam23**](http://shizam23.livejournal.com/) for [](http://vm-santa.livejournal.com/profile)[**vm_santa**](http://vm-santa.livejournal.com/).

“You know,” Veronica had commented wryly last year as she and her father had decorated the tree, “there are some people who think that Christmas is about the birth of Christ. And not baseball.”

“Now, we’re all entitled to our own religions, Veronica,” he’d teased in reply.

And they’d laughed, and she hadn’t taken him seriously at all at the time. But now… Now, she knew better. After Duncan’s graceless and indecisive – yet somehow annoyingly noble – abandonment, she hadn’t even planned to attend the Christmas party at the now-only-half-occupied Neptune Grand presidential suite. Especially given who that remaining resident was.

But, despite herself, she’d found herself going along at Gia’s nervous insistence – and just why was she helping Dick Casablancas get laid, anyway? – and, as expected, the obligatory explosion had occurred, and…

Well, mistake though it may have seemed at the time and cliché though it might be, it taught her the true meaning of the holiday season. Which was baseball. Definitely baseball. She should have known her father would be right all along…

First Base

First base had been innocent enough.

“So sorry we don’t meet your _high_ standards,” Logan had snapped as she stormed past him on her way out.

She spun and turned on him at the doorway, ready to give him a piece of her mind, and he barely stopped before he crashed right into her, face flushed and dark eyes flashing. She felt the fury rise inside her and then, somehow, she became aware of the hoots and hollers all around them. And something inside her must have suspected the truth because she looked up and, sure enough, a little green sprig of leaves, bound together with a red ribbon, hung on the doorframe above them.

Logan glanced up with a start as well, noticing her reaction. She watched him swallow slowly, studied the graceful movement of muscles in his throat, remembered the salty taste of the skin of his neck right _there_ , which would always make him laugh shakily and warn her that they needed a breather if she didn’t want things to start moving _fast_.

The shouts and jeers continued, and Veronica knew that she should ignore them and just stalk right out. These people weren’t her friends, and she didn’t care one bit about what they thought.

Which, of course, was why she’d grabbed Logan’s face roughly with her hands and pulled him down to her, pressing their mouths together fervently, if chastely.

She felt her stomach bottom out, the world spin around her, and all from the innocent meeting of two pairs of closed lips. He was warm and sweet, and somehow the softness of the very tips of his lips touching hers turned her on more than anything in the world.

His eyelashes fluttered shut for one moment at the pure joy of intimate contact before he pulled away slowly, slipping out of her grasp as the grip of her hands loosened, limp and drunk on the flavor of _him_.

Around them, the crowd groaned that all they’d gotten was a kiss so brief and scant that it could barely even be called that. A pivotal joining of two beings so desperate and lonely in the intervening months without the other, and it hadn’t appeared racy at all to the onlookers.

Veronica felt him pull away from her, felt his warmth recede, his scent fade, and she just _couldn’t_ let it end like that. He opened his mouth to speak – undoubtedly some smart barb – but she caught him open-mouthed and unawares, plunged her tongue into his mouth, tasted him, invaded him, consumed him…

A deep throaty groan escaped the back of his throat, and it seemed to vibrate throughout her entire body. He’d been passive in the last kiss, she now realized; he wasn’t being passive any longer. His hands clutched at her waist, pulling her flush against him, and he rolled their bodies together in a languid dance, twisting them through the door, out into the hall, away from prying eyes.

She crashed into the wall, the feel of _him_ all over her, his body moving against hers in a slow, sensual dance. Their tongues twisted, tangled, battled and surrendered, and the blood was rushing to her head so that she couldn’t think, couldn’t remember anything in this world except the _amazing_ feeling of Logan Echolls’ mouth slanting possessively over hers, and the warmth of his body all around her, and the rhythm of his heart pulsing against her own. She felt dizzy, weak, faint, and pulled away with a gasp, the coolness of the air around them filling her lungs, relieving her of the haze that overtook her at his touch.

And that was when sanity reasserted itself, reminded her that in no way, shape, or form should she be pressed tight between the wall and Logan’s body. Some part of her found strength to push him away, a surprisingly easy task given the weight of him. But, then, he seemed to be as hypnotized by their kiss as she had been, so he didn’t really put up a struggle.

She ran then, through the crowd in the main room and to the door. Anything to get away from these _feelings_ , this intense pressure that threatened to consume her, break her open and expose her raw before him.

And it had all started off so innocently. Just a sprig of mistletoe.

Second Base

Second base simply shouldn’t have happened.

Veronica had always prided herself on her confidence, her consistency. She rarely doubted herself, even when sometimes it might have been better if she had. But, for some reason, she hesitated this time, just a moment’s pause as she fumbled for the doorknob – for freedom – and was on her way out.

It was only a second’s look back. Perhaps a quick spark of curiosity – hope? – about his reaction. It wasn’t like her, really.

What was even less like her was the feeling of raw panic and horror that coursed through her body at the sight of him. He’d turned away as she left, unable to watch her leave him again, but she could still see everything on his face, could see something just _break_ deep inside him, another part of him die. She’d forced herself to stand by and watch that expression on his face countless times. She’d rationalized the pain she put in his eyes so often: _I have to do it. It’s best for him in the long run. It’s best for me._ And sometimes, darkly, in the back of her mind: _He deserves this for the way he treated me._

This time, though… There was something about the slump of his shoulders as he turned to head back to the party, the line of his back, the tightly coiled loss and despair. This time, there was no turning back.

The panic grew, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d run back for him, reached out, caught his shoulder and turned him to face her. A momentary flash of surprise, like he didn’t even believe she’d even _care_ , and then an annoyed shrug as he brushed her hand off.

“I just…” she breathed.

“Save it.” And she’d seen him angry before, but never like this. Never so _cold_.

Involuntarily, she shivered. “Please…” She didn’t even know what she was begging him for, really. Forgiveness, hope, trust, love? All things she’d seen in him, counted on. Things she hadn’t realized that she _needed_ him to feel, until she’d saw them start to leave. “Let me…”

He hesitated for a moment, and she could see the emotions flicker in his eyes – off and on, _so close_ to being lost to her forever. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, frantic, terrified, but then he sighed wearily and nodded.

Sudden relief flooded her body, and she could have wept for joy. Instead, she reached for the nearest door, realized with a grimace that it was Duncan’s old room, but didn’t care. This was more important. This was _everything_.

“What are you—?” he gasped when she pressed him back into the closed door and ran her hands lightly up and down his chest.

“Shh,” she urged, leaning in to press a small, wet kiss into the joint of his neck.

He hissed in ecstasy, or maybe just frustration. “We need to talk.”

“I can’t. Please,” she pleaded with him, hands slipping around his waist and up, caressing his spine in a reassuring gesture. “Just let me show you…”

He didn’t protest again. She took that as agreement. She continued to touch him, stroke him, and felt him relax against her. His body seemed to collapse under her gentle massage, and she staggered under his sudden weight, reminded vividly of a time when she’d held him just like this in the lobby of the Sunset Regent. He’d been crying then; she wasn’t quite sure of his emotions right now, just that his face was pressed against her shoulder, and he seemed more than a little weak-kneed.

This time, she let his weight carry them down. The bed caught their fall, and she winced a little under him, until he twisted, letting her rise over him.

He was eerily silent in the dark, and she would’ve given almost anything just then to know the expression on his face. Nervously, she reached out to him, traced the outline of his face with her fingertips before moving down to his chest, exploring ridges of sinew and muscle.

He was so still underneath her until finally she could make out the sound of his breaths in the darkness, a regular rough intake of air that became stronger and louder each time she caressed him, tiny hands molding against the powerful lines of his body.

It was such a relief to hear even that faint sign of his enjoyment just then. She wasn’t used to him holding back from her like this. All the time they’d been together, he’d caressed her with words, lips, hands, until she’d thought she would fall apart at the seams at the tenderness of him. This was different and a little bit frightening, a testament to just how much of him she’d sacrificed when she’d broken his heart.

“Shh,” she cooed again, leaning down over him and finding his lips with hers. A quick, stolen kiss in the dark. She felt his hands on her waist, then, thumbs rubbing small, soothing circles into the small of her back. She returned the gesture, tracing her thumbs up and down the sharp lines of his hipbones beneath the thick material of his jeans.

His breath caught in his throat, a sharp gasp now, and she pulled back to sit up over him once more, taking a shaky breath herself.

“Okay?”

“Yeah…” His voice wavered. Frightened or uncertain or just deeply shaken, she didn’t know.

“Okay, then.”

His hands had settled on her waist when she sat up, and she took one large hand in hers, guided it slowly up the curves of her body. He pulled free of her grasp, realizing her invitation, and cupped her left breast cautiously at first, then more confidently.

Her fingers returned to his body, found the hem of his shirt, and pulled it back a few inches, exposing a bare sliver of stomach for her to explore. His skin was hot beneath her fingertips, and she outlined muscles slowly, working her way to the front. The first touch of the downy trail of hair beneath his navel, and he moaned aloud.

“Veronica…”

“Sit up,” she requested softly, and he complied easily, like he didn’t have a contrary bone in his body. She had to fight back her instinctive laughter at _that_ thought.

He was close to her now, close enough to kiss, but she returned her attention to his shirt instead, peeling the thin fabric from his body, pressing her palms against the supple, warm flesh beneath. She could feel his body tense in anticipation as she moved upward, muscles tightening and bunching beneath her palms, and when the pads of her fingers brushed over his nipples, he took over for her, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. She couldn’t see where it landed, couldn’t see what color it had been, either. Olive green, she thought, but she wasn’t certain. And it didn’t matter now anyway.

Regular harsh gasps were escaping his lips as she continued to circle the flats of his nipples with her fingertips, and she leaned into him, pushing him back down again as her mouth moved lower, kissing one of the dark buds tenderly, reverently.

He’d always loved this before, when they’d been together over the summer, and his opinion didn’t seem to have changed. His body tensed and relaxed sporadically, giving in to the sensation of her wet tongue and then struggling not to thrash beneath her in ecstasy.

There was a certain ego boost in having the great and infamous Logan Echolls completely at her mercy like this.

One hand slid back down, rising and falling with his desperate pants for breath, circling his navel slowly and stroking the tender flesh beneath. The hitching in his chest increased as her thumb twirled around the short hairs just above the waistband of his jeans, taunting him with what he really wanted.

She gulped and, oh-so-gently, moved lower, cupping his growing hardness through his jeans. The cry she earned in reward was more than enough.

“Fuck!”

In the past, she’d always stopped here. He was so big and so _intense_ , and she’d always known on instinct that she couldn’t toy with him like this for long, not if she didn’t mean it. And, fuck, but she shouldn’t mean it now. She shouldn’t even have been here in the first place.

But, as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could finally make out the blackness of his eyes. And, whether they’d been angry or sad or joyous before, now the emotion in them was so deep, so _passionate_ , that something twisted deep inside her.

She shouldn’t have turned back.

But, now that she finally had, she wasn’t going to leave him again.

Third Base

Third base was so organic, so _natural_ , that she couldn’t believe she’d ever manage to stop things before.

It was new territory for the two of them, but it shouldn’t have been. And, as Veronica squeezed him harder this time, more firmly, and watched his control slip away, she finally realized how wrong she’d been to fear this for so long.

He ground into her hand roughly, and she could feel him getting harder – _bigger_ , it seemed, as well. He caught her in his arms, and any passivity that had been left in him was gone. Warm, wet kisses covered her face and throat, and his body twisted against hers until somehow he ended up on top of her and her blouse ended up halfway across the room.

She continued to hold his erection in her hand, and now that she had him, she didn’t want to give him up. He laughed at her, shakily, and then pressed his whole body into her, letting her feel his weight fully above her before undulated in a slow, sensual grind.

“Oh my god,” she half-whispered, half-gasped against his cheek, and the wetness between her thighs that had been building slowly was suddenly throbbing in its intensity, impossible to ignore.

His hand was on her breast again, and he found the front clasp and fumbled for a moment before nimble fingers worked it free and bared her to him. “So beautiful…” he whispered.

“You can’t even see me,” she laughed, even as his mouth closed over one mound, making her vision swim.

He grunted in displeasure, and the vibrations against her sensitive flesh made something coil deep in her belly. “I’ve seen you before,” he pointed out in his defense.

She didn’t really care at that moment. About anything, really, except feeling his mouth on her again. “Shut up,” she groused, wrapping her fingers together at the base of his neck and pulling him back down over her breast.

He laughed, open-mouthed, against her, and it was even better than the grunt. And silly her, she hadn’t thought to _ask_ for Logan Echolls’ warm laugh against her naked breast this Christmas. Just another grievous oversight…

She owed him for that laugh, and for the nipping and sucking and hot breaths and wandering fingers, and her own hands moved down his bare back, lovingly circling each vertebra that she found, until his body was thrumming in pleasure against her. And the sympathetic vibrations into her own body were nothing shabby, either.

One clever hand had somehow slipped down her body and found the front button of her jeans, flicking at it frenetically with his agitated thumb but not making any move to release it. Feeling the constant flurry of motion, but with no release, was like torture. With an annoyed grunt, she found the front of his jeans and popped the button.

He froze for a moment, in shock. “Veronica…?”

She reached inside, found more boxer shorts than bare flesh, but the gesture was clear enough. “Shh…”

He went along with her plan and unzipped her own pants. She’d figured he would see reason, once her hand had wrapped around him.

They rolled again, both kicking at clothing, scrambling in what Veronica was sure had to be a completely comical way. De-pantsing in the dark, just great.

But then they were both completely nude, and she felt his entire bare length slide against her body for the first time, and all other thoughts were gone from her head.

“Beautiful,” he insisted stubbornly. She opened her mouth to repeat her earlier objection, but his eyes must have adjusted as well, because he cut off her protest. “You _feel_ beautiful.” And he moved so that their chests brushed and one of his legs slipped gently between hers, twining them together.

“Sweet talker,” she accused lightly, lips on his jaw and hands touching every bit of bare Logan she could reach. A banquet for her fingertips…

“You, of all people, should know that my words are _anything_ but sweet,” he retorted. His fingers lazily prodded her opening, checking her wetness and arousing her further all at the same time. Damn, but he was good…

“Since when are you allowed to talk again?” she asked pointedly.

“You honestly expect me to stand idly by while my honor is besmirched?” he gasped in mock-horror.

She gulped a little at his unknowing choice of words. No, Logan would never stand idly by. If he was pissed at her or there was something wrong, she would hear about it, most likely for hours on end complete with clever, if cynical, commentary and numerous movie references. After dating Duncan, it sounded _really_ appealing. “Your honor, my ass,” she snorted.

He squeezed the portion of her anatomy in question. “And a very fine ass it is, indeed.”

She reciprocated the gesture. “I like yours better,” she whispered huskily in his ear.

He nodded with false gravity. “I am exceptionally bitable. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

She fought not to laugh. “This is so much easier when you don’t talk.” She pulled him down for another kiss, hot and open-mouthed but with no tongue play yet.

He pulled back for a moment. “Now, _that’s_ a reason to shut up that I can get behind.” And kissed her again.

And, oh, this was so natural. So natural, indeed…

Home

Coming home, at long last, was inevitable.

There was no need for words. Instinctively, their bodies fell into place, and Veronica hadn’t even realized how much her body had been _craving_ him until she felt the tip of him brush her folds, and the world spun into startling, unreal color.

He scrambled for the bedside drawer and swore when he remembered this wasn’t his room.

“My purse,” she whispered huskily in his ear, and thankfully the universe was merciful today, and her purse had landed right beside the bed amid the fallen storm of clothing that was scattered about the room.

“Thank god,” he moaned in relief when he dug through her bag and came up with a foil-wrapped condom. “I officially love you for life.”

The words were a joke, but they still made her heart pound, made her _need_ for him all that much more intense. Luckily, he seemed to be a pro at the whole condom thing; one long roll and he was ready.

Their lips met, and their bodies fitted together, and finally the silence that Veronica had forced between them became unbearable to her, and she cried out.

“Logan…”

He was inside her with one rough twist of his hips, and the suddenness of it all shocked her to cry out again. He’d left her no time for hesitation or second-guessing. No time for resistance, either. And, left to its own devices, her body had welcomed him easily, molded to his contours and held him tight inside her.

“Oh, god. Veronica…”

And then he was moving inside her, fast and frantic, and there was no time for thought. Veronica could feel him absolutely _everywhere_ , and he was amazing and overwhelming, and she flowed against him, lips pressing into his flesh wherever she could, branding him.

She hadn’t even been conscious of the fact that she’d wrapped her legs around him tight, or thought about how to move with him, against him in perfect counterpoint. It was fast and heady and purely instinctive. She couldn’t even process all the sensations coursing through her. His lips were dipping down to touch her face, and the light dusting of hair on his chest was rubbing softly against her over-sensitized nipples, and he was inside her, so strong and so deep, reaching the very core of her being. And somehow his hand had managed to make its way between them when she’d been too absorbed trying to process everything else, and now his thumb was circling her clit slowly, seductively, and she could feel something clench inside of her.

“Logan,” she hissed against his ear, the two of them pressed together cheek-to-cheek. And she wished that she could have said more – anything, really – to articulate all the feelings that were consuming her. But then the pleasure grew in her again, and she was unable to process anything but wonder and joy…

With a strangled gasp and clenched jaw, he came. Apparently, her saying his name had been enough to do him in. There was a sort of giddy thrill in that. She felt him pulse inside of her as he spent himself, watched all the muscles in his body clench as he tried to maintain his tenuous hold on himself above her in order not to crush her.

It was a battle he finally won with shaking arms and awestruck eyes, as he stared down at her. “God, Veronica…” he whispered reverently. With a little groan, he pulled out of her body.

And she expected him to kiss her then, to roll off of her. After all, this was the end, wasn’t it? But instead, shivering fingers returned to her clit and began rubbing more vigorously this time.

“Please,” he whispered, as if _he_ were the one in need of release.

She’d spent more time in the past than she probably should have, studying those big, dexterous hands of his, imagining how they’d feel on her. All fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. She felt a slow, burning warmth spread between her legs, and then she was shaking, muscles spasming and this was it…

“Shh.” He backed off, and she felt her body still again, a lazy smile on her face.

“That was—” she began, but he cut her off by returning to her clit, flicking quickly, roughly.

She felt a sudden hitch, and something twisted _deep_ inside her, something so hidden she’d never even suspected it had existed before. Whatever it was was tightening under his nimble fingers, tensing further inside her than she’d ever imagined the pleasure could go.

His forehead brushed against hers gently, and then he whispered softly, nervously, “I’m still in love with you…”

The tension exploded inside of her. Her hips thrust up off of the bed of her own accord, and her head thrashed against the curve of his arm as her first orgasm finally overtook her. She couldn’t process anything, really, only the rays of ecstasy extending from her center, brought to new heights as he continued to stimulate the hyper-aware nerve endings as she came.

And then, finally, her body stilled, and the motion of his hand brought her gently down, and she found herself back in his arms, eyelids heavy and body sated.

All that effort and conflict, and the safety of home had been in his arms all along. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought that she should have known that all along…

After Party

Veronica awoke feeling warm, wet, and very happy. As she opened her eyes, blinking against the light, she realized that the first two were due to the warm terry cloth Logan was using to clean between her legs. And, to tell the truth, that particular fact wasn’t hurting the third, either.

She must have stirred because he looked up at her, eyes dark and intense, and offered a carefully neutral, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she murmured with a smile, stretching languidly amid the sheets.

He watched her body move, eyes hungry. And she was surprised that she didn’t feel self-conscious in the slightest, being completely nude before him and this time in the light where he could see everything. But, instead, it felt…comfortable. Right.

He rose to return the cloth to the bathroom, and he was just as naked as she was. He’d already removed the condom and cleaned himself off, she noted as she studied his body unabashedly. He gave her a little wink and a smirk as he turned his back on her to disappear into the bathroom. Left with nothing else to do, she watched his ass as he walked. It was a good life…

Legs looking a little shaky, he returned and slipped back into bed beside her. She mumbled nothing much of anything against his shoulder as she settled back into the crook of his arm.

He took a deep breath, two, and pleaded softly, “Please tell me this wasn’t just because it’s Christmas.”

“Given that it’s not actually Christmas? I think you’re safe,” she retorted wryly.

“Au contraire,” he corrected her lightly. “12:09. Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve morning,” she grumbled, the fingers of her left hand twirling random patterns through his chest hair absentmindedly. “Doesn’t count.”

He shook his head. “I love how you turn this all into an argument about the _date_.”

She groaned. “See? This is why you talking is bad,” she concluded.

“Veronica,” his voice held the hint of a warning, “I can’t be quiet and play nice forever. It’s not _me_.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “What would be the fun in that? But it’s kind of distracting while I’m trying to re-ravish you, y’know?”

He looked down at her, amused. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“It seems to be the only way I can keep that smart mouth shut for any length of time,” she nodded, pressing soft butterfly kisses over his nipple.

“It’s more than mutual,” he groaned. “But, seriously, you honestly think you can fuck me nonstop through an entire relationship?”

It was the second weakness he’d dropped this night. The first had been the amazingly huge risk he’d taken in assuming that confessing his love would cause her to come rather than to draw back from him. Veronica decided she liked it when he left himself open and vulnerable to her. It was something she hadn’t really appreciated in him before…

“I’m going to give it a shot,” she offered with a cheerful smile. Her hand found the flat of his stomach and rubbed at the sensitive skin beneath his navel.

“Fuck! I like this plan…” He let out a reluctant sigh. “But – and it _kills_ me to be remotely responsible like this – don’t you have a curfew or something?”

“My dad will understand,” she insisted.

He let out a sudden whoop of laughter. “I should have known: You’ve finally completely lost your mind. It’s the only explanation for why you’re being so nice to me, really…”

She frowned at that. “I’m—”

“ _Veronica_ …”

“Like you’re any better,” she grumbled against him.

“Never said I was.” He let out a deep sigh and waved his hands before him, wafting the air in the room towards his nose. “I just wanted to get all the insanity out in the open, y’know?”

With a groan and a laugh, she swatted him with the pillow. “Fine. We’re both insane. If we had any common sense whatsoever, we wouldn’t be in bed together. But, hey, insanity is the spice of life.”

“Glad to hear you finally admit it.” He pressed his forehead against hers affectionately, holding her close. And then, more nervously, “I’ll understand if you have to go…”

It was the cagiest way of saying ‘please, don’t go’ that she’d ever heard. “I can stay,” she assured him. “If my dad complains, I’ll just remind him that _he_ was the one who told me that Christmas was about baseball in the first place.”

She’d almost forgotten what it was like to set up a thoroughly subtle joke, and be beaten to the punchline. “Planning on running the bases again, are we?”

She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or enraptured; it was a common occurrence around him. “I’ll give in another try.” And pulled him back into her.


End file.
